Insanity Attracts
by BloodyButterflies
Summary: "Well, aren't you just uh-dor-able," He giggled, looking down at her bloodstained mouth and nails. "You do all this yourself, princess?" - "Back off!" She snarled, baring her teeth. "I'll tear your throat out, I swear I will!" Joker/OC
1. Chapter 1: Escape From Arkham

**Chapter One: Escape From Arkham **

* * *

_If you were to kill me now right here  
__I would still look you in the eye  
__And I would burn myself  
__Into your memory,  
__As long as you were still alive.  
_

_I would not run  
__I would not turn  
__I would not hide.  
__I would just look you in the eye._  
**- In The Eye, Suzanne Vega**.

* * *

"Sir, I'm not sure you should go in there."

The guard in front of him was a youthful man, with thick blonde curls and questionable facial hair. He was handsome in that immortal, fragile essence in which all young men are handsome; that golden moment before life's regrets rears its ugly black head. As per his job description, he was wearing loose-fitting blue scrubs and a black nightstick dragged down one corner of his belt. A radio crackled bursts of static, and the young guard flicked an uneasy glance at the locked door before turning down his radio dial. The other man was dressed far better – a white lab coat, dark pants of some dressy material, and nicely polished loafers. There were multiple pens in his pocket, the thin plastic caps peeking out, and he was gripping a clipboard in the crook of his arm. A square plastic nametag marked the doctor as Doctor W. Kershaw, and he had been a psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum for nearly three years. Dr. Kershaw sighed impatiently, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "Keith – it's Keith, right? Look, I've dealt with difficult patients before, and I shouldn't have a problem with her. Okay? Now, please, I need to evaluate her so we can figure out which ward to put her in."

"Sir, with all due respect, she should go in the A or B Block," Keith said without a trace of doubt. "You heard what she did to one of the guards while she was being transferred."

The doctor adjusted his glasses, peering at the younger man over the black frames, and shook his head. "They misjudged her medication, Keith, and its not an issue now. She's in restraints, she's medicated, and I am going to be perfectly safe. Okay? Now, Keith, please – open the door." Dr. Kershaw said calmly. Keith's mouth tightened, but shrugged and swiped his keycard, waiting for the light to turn green. When it did, there was a metallic_ ping!_ and the door lock opened with a pneumatic hiss. Dr. Kershaw stepped inside, blinking once in the sheer, blinding whiteness of the room. This was a temporary holding room, with soft, padded walls and floor, which difficult patients were kept in until their cases were full examined and placed in the proper ward. The higher the letter, the more dangerous the patient – the A Block was reserved for the criminally insane, psychopaths and serial killers, while the D Block was for the mentally retarded. It was a simple system.

She was belted to a chair, the restraints buckled around her wrists, ankles, calves, and neck, preventing even the slightest movement. There was a wiry, brutal strength in her arms, and Dr. Kershaw was reminded of the case file he had just reviewed; she had been taken off Thorazine and put on a lighter medication, which spurred her to begin a workout regime in her cells. After another escape attempt, the Thorazine had been resumed and it was slowly killing off brain function, leaving him with a drugged woman who once had the brain of a scientist, and now had the mind of a beast. A pair of dark, listless eyes examined him with sleepy aggression, a lazy defiance, and Dr. Kershaw offered a thin-lipped smile. "Hey, Miss Rowen," He said carefully, injecting just the right amount of cautious cheerfulness in his voice. "How do you feel?"

Slowly, her chin lifted, and he saw just how heavily drugged she was. Every movement was sluggish and slow, but her eyes were heavy with contempt. "You – think you're smart," She ground out. Her voice was a low growl, slurred from medication.

"We're not here to talk about me, Miss Rowen," Dr. Kershaw said briskly. "We're here to talk about you, and your behavior in Metro City Asylum." He paused, and then took off his glasses. "Why did you hurt all of those people, Miss Rowen?" He asked softly.

With great effort, she bared her teeth, lips curling back to show square teeth, one of the canines chipped. It was undeniably menacing, and completely feral. "I'd say – ask them," She rasped with great difficulty, her eyes still dull as she fought the medication, "But you can't can you?" There was a hint of malicious pleasure in those exposed teeth.

"Can we expect more of that kind of behavior, Miss Rowen?" He asked. It was a routine question – most of them didn't answer, a few protested their innocence, and several screamed obscene terrorist threats. Her eyes shook off a shade of the dullness, and she panted a slow, guttural breath.

"_Alpha_," She hissed between her teeth. "My name – is Alpha."

"Alpha, then," Dr. Kershaw stated blandly, quite used to patients' quirks. "Can we expect more violent behavior from you here in Arkham?"

She growled, very quietly, low in her throat, her teeth still visible.

Dr. Kershaw took that as an enthusiastic yes.

* * *

It took her nearly a week to shake off the last dusty fingers of her medication, to clear her mind of the thick fog they forced upon her. Cheeking pills was common in asylums – in the C and D Blocks, orderlies stood by to ensure their patients actually took them, but nothing could be risked with the patients with higher security. The pills were cheeked dutifully by the patients with sharper minds, and she was one of them. When she was certain the guards had gone, she flushed them down the stainless steel toilet – stainless steel, she knew, because the ceramic ones had been chipped and the shards used as a suicide device. So, day by day, her head grew a little clearer, until she was finally able to sort out the jumble of memories residing in her head. There were some sticky, cold, black memories which she avoided, because she knew they would suck her down with the speed of quicksand. She dwelt with the present. The past was of no value to her. But she remembered how she had escaped last time, and she knew she had to make her move soon – paperwork was still being shuffled. She remembered paperwork. A low growl built in her throat at the thought, but she cut herself off, there were guards approaching.

She shook her hair into her face, dropped her chin to her chest, and allowed her eyes to nearly close. The high whine of the keycard reached her ears, and then the thick _chunk!_ of the door lock opening with a steady hiss. Two orderlies came inside, talking in low voices about their plans for the weekend. The urge to pounce, hard and fast, struck her – but she restrained herself with a monumental effort. The orderlies shuffled her to the door, unbuttoning the straitjacket and handcuffing her wrists together in front of her. She kept her head down as they maneuvered her out into the hallway, and she made sure her feet shuffled along the floor, like a good little patient. Every nerve ending frayed to a pulp, she waited until the door closed behind them, the door lock engaging with a little beep and another solid noise.

The instant the door was locked, her head snapped up and she sprang into action. Her elbow popped up, catching the guard behind her right in the nose, and he yelped, stepping back to clutch at his injured face and grope for his nightstick. Her bare foot connected with the second guard's knees, sending him sprawling, and she turned around just in time to catch the butt of the first guard's nightstick. Twisting the slick metal rod, she jerked it out of his hands and sent it cracking across his neck, dropping him neatly to the floor. The second guard was up again, ready to restrain her, but she kneed him hard where it counted and pinned him to the floor. She was full of hyper energy, eyes dark with a bizarre sort of frenzy, and she growled – actually _growled – _at the guard. Her teeth sank into his neck hard, deep enough to taste his metallic-tasting blood in her mouth. He screamed in pain, thrashing beneath her, and she grinned at him. His blood had turned her teeth crimson and was dripping down her chin. "_Alpha_," She hissed in his ear. "Don't forget it!"

Her bare feet squeaked on the waxed linoleum floors as she darted towards the exit doors. Her palm, slick with sweat and blood, slipped off the handle, but she yanked it open and hurtled down the next hallway, adrenaline surging through her veins and battling her racing heartbeat. A young female nurse looked up and shouted something in protest, but she kept running, skidding around a gurney and avoiding the swiping hands of another guard. She encountered only three other people, one of which was another patient there; the two orderlies were left howling on the floor, clutching bleeding bite marks on their wrists and throats, while the patient stood there stupidly, staring dully at her retreating back. The secretary at the main desk shrieked and slapped a button, shouting for guards – the escaping patient spared her a single snarl, and then shot through the heavy steel doors before they clamped shut into lockdown.

The chain-link fence surrounding Arkham was a challenge – ten feet tall, topped with gleaming barbed wire looped around the top. She scaled it, hearing the aggressive barking of dogs behind her, the harsh klaxon buzz of an alarm whining in her ears. A big German Shepard, dark coat glossy and fangs exposed as it barked at her, was leaping at her from the ground. It caught her heel, teeth sinking into her foot, but the pain barely registered in her mind; she hung onto the fence and kicked at it with her free foot. The instant her injured heel was released by the dog, she was at the barbed wire and trying to get over it. A gunshot cracked through the air – a warning shot. She _hated_ guns, the noise was horrific to her ears, and she threw herself at the barbed wire. Razor-sharp wire left long, crimson scratches across her arms and belly as she swung her leg over the top of the fence. The adrenaline in her system was too high, too erratic for the pain to sent any signals to her mind. However, red stripes of blood were soaking through her orange jumpsuit, and she giggled maniacally when she thought of someone trying to scrub out the stains.

Skipping the last six feet, she dropped to the ground and grinned horribly at the guards on the other side of the fence. The dogs were foaming at the mouth, jumping hysterically as they tried to reach her through the wire, and she took off like a shot, ignoring the trail of blood she was leaving behind. Arkham was behind her, and she was finally _free_! The freedom was _delicious_, and the drying blood on her lips and chin cracked as she whooped her victory to the skies, an insane mixture of howling and laughter, primal and bestial to the last note.

* * *

The first building she saw was a tall, sleek, opulent marble structure with the words _Gotham National Bank_ typed in formal brass lettering across the front. Cars honked at her as she raced through traffic, and no doubt people were dialing numbers to have her locked up again. She slammed her fist against the side of a small blue car as she wove swiftly through the stopped cars, actually cracking the glass. Something popped in her hand, but she ignored it; the look of fear on the person's face was enough to override any regret she had. The urge to get in someplace cool and dark struck in the forefront of her mind, and she abruptly swerved, leaving across the hood of a car and landing hard on the sidewalk, ignoring the loud blare of a car horn. The bank in front of her looked dark – it would be enough for now.

She was highly conscious of her tattered orange jumpsuit branding her an escapee, especially seeing as it was soaked with blood. Her jaws began to ache, and her head throbbed from her exertion. Still, the urge to run was scorching through her veins like acid, and her only reaction to the terrified gasps from the bank tellers was to bare her teeth viciously. She left bloody footprints on the floor as she ran over to the long counter, and with a lithe movement, levered herself over it and landed catlike on the floor. The tellers backed away hurriedly, one of them pausing to hit the emergency button beneath the counter. However, this hesitation cost her – with a frightening display of speed, the demonic patient had knocked her flat on the marble floors, pinning her wrists to the ground. One of the tellers – a wiry-looking male – took a step near them, but Alpha's bloody lips peeled back to reveal her stained teeth. "Not a move," She hissed savagely. "Or she dies – I'll tear her face off, I promise you!"

"Okay, okay," The male teller said, holding up his palms. "It's okay, Linda, it's okay," He whispered to the woman on the floor. Linda whimpered, sobbing on the floor, staring terrified into the feral dark eyes of her captor.

"You," The patient growled at one of the innocent women who had come in to deposit their checks, "Take off that jacket, or she dies," She ordered, indicating the woman she had pinned beneath her, her voice hoarse and ragged. "Now!" She barked, and the female client hurriedly took off her leather jacket and dropped it on the floor. "Kick it over here," Alpha snapped. The leather jacket went skidding across the floors, and the patient gripped it in her fist, glaring at the other tellers. They were about to make a move, she could sense it, they were going to rush her and attempt to rescue Linda; with one sudden, harsh movement, she leapt off the teller and scooted on top of the counter, about to make her escape – the jacket would buy her some extra time, hide her orange jumpsuit for a few moments.

The doors flew open with a bang, and gunshots went off, causing the already traumatized people to scream and drop to the floor. There was a group of men storming inside, firing their guns, holding empty duffle bags and wearing childish clown masks. One of them leveled their Sig Saur at her, and she bared her teeth, holding her ground. They could rob the bank, she didn't give a damn, she just needed _out_. Out, into the free world, not trapped inside some building or a cage or a straitjacket. "Move," She snarled at the clown robber, and spread her legs, steadying herself. "Outta my way!" She shouted, "Move, or I swear I'll –"

The bullet clipped her arm, sending her flying to one side, and she shrieked in pain, hand going to staunch the graze wound on her upper arm. More blood soaked her jumpsuit, and the robbers scattered, leaving her on the ground to complete their various tasks. All except one, that is – one of them was a little taller than the rest, and wider as well. He wore a crumpled purple suit, with a garish green vest beneath it, and he cocked his head to one side, seemingly evaluating her. It was impossible to read his facial expression, seeing as the clown mask covered everything except a pair of dark eyes looking at her mockingly.

Insanity met insanity in twin pairs of dark eyes, and the two criminals evaluated each other. She was short, starved lean but with muscles still flexing beneath her pale skin; her messy brown hair was matted and clumped with dried blood, and her eyes were feral and black. Blood painted her pale face, streaked her orange jumpsuit, painting her in a fabulously horrific display of her gruesome trophies, and he smiled beneath his mask.

"Well, aren't you just _uh-dor-able_," The robber giggled, taking half a step closer to the wounded escapee. His eyes focused on the bloodstains. "You do all this yourself, princess?"

"Back off!" She rasped. "Get away, or I'll tear your throat out, I swear I will!"

"Not so fast, sweetie," He hissed, taking another step closer to her. "Where'd you get that orange, uh, _suit _of yours?"

"Arkham," She ground out between locked jaws.

He giggled breathily, and then reached up to pull of his mask, the rubber party mask dangling from his purple gloves. An icy twinge of fear shot through her as she took in the war paint – the childish white smeared on the cheeks, the ghoulish black around the eyes, and the sinister red around the mouth. The red paint couldn't entirely cover the puckered scars along his cheeks, and she saw with a shudder of familiarity that his face had been carved into a permanent smile. She bared her teeth, grunting ferociously in a display of aggression – but she knew he could sense her fear. This was the Joker, Clown Prince of Gotham and holder of a horrific reputation. He snorted another cackle at her feeble attempt at dominance, and twirled his gun around his finger. "You got a _name_, buttercu_p_?" He asked, popping the last 'p'.

"Alpha," She panted, digging her nails into her upper arm, the hot blood now soaking through her jumpsuit and dripping onto the floor. "You're the Joker."

"_Bingo_!" He yelped, and then seized a fistful of her hair, hauling her roughly upright. She jerked away from him, twisting her head to see if she could sink her teeth into his wrists, but his grip was iron. They glared at each other, the mental unbalance meeting and evening out as they locked eyes, both of them grinning fiercely at each other. It couldn't have lasted more than a second, she knew, but he whooped with another round of insane laughter and shook her a little, sending fiery bolts of pain through her scalp. She ignored it, and kicked out at him. "You know, I _like_ you," He giggled, "I _really_ do. If you're ever in the _neighbor_hood, make sure you give me a _call_, okie-dokie?" He rammed a playing card between her blood-stained lips, then released her, allowing her to drop to the floor.

He limped off, no doubt prepping the bank to be purged of any available finances. She spat out the playing card, and she saw that it was a joker, with a clumsy red smile painted cruelly on the playing card's face. Her breath came in short, staccato bursts as she giggled, and got to her knees. She spared a glance behind her, and then darted to the brass doors. One of the other bank robbers called after her, but there was a gunshot and he dropped to the floor. She turned around, glancing behind her before she left, and caught the Joker's eye. She shot him a mocking salute before disappearing down the street.

He had another whoop of laughter as he waited for the bus to arrive.

He was ready to destroy Gotham – and she was willing to watch it burn.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I received some lovely concrit last time, and I really want to thank **xTune** for giving me the advice, because it really was nice of her to take the time to give me such a lengthy review. I took some more time to smooth this out, but unfortunately, I'm still not all that fabulous at editing my own work, so if I made any typos, I'm truly sorry. I took away some of Jacqueline's ferocity, and made her a little more – um, human, I guess. xD Anyway, this _is_ going to be a longer story, because I think I worked out a proper plot to it. I would love to hear some input on how you think the chapter came out! –puppy eyes-


	2. Chapter 2: Too Wild

**Chapter Two: Too Wild**

* * *

_I go wild  
Cause you break me open  
Wild  
Cause you left me here  
I go wild  
Cause your promises are broken  
Wild  
When I know you're near  
I go wild  
I go wild _**- Poe**

* * *

She was lost.

Navigating the gritty, seedy underbelly of Gotham which was the Narrows had never been her specialty. She much preferred wide, open places, where there weren't shadowy corners for possible assailants to hide in. A place where everything could be seen, nothing could be hidden. Someplace fair. And the Narrows were the exact opposite of that.

Her head was swimming in pain as she limped down the street, skittering away from a snoring drunk in a corner when she passed by. It hurt too much to even try opening her mouth, let alone fight with a jaws ached from the escape at Arkham, and try as she might, she couldn't remember exactly how she had gotten so much blood on her. The orderlies were small, they couldn't bleed _that_ much, could they? The bullet wound on her arm was a branding, burning nugget of fire which kept her left side hot and numb, while the rest of her was cool and clammy.

Her ears seemingly pricked up as she heard the slam of a car door, and a low, feminine laugh shortly followed. A woman – good. She peeped around the corner, trying to catch a glimpse of her quarry, and spotted a slender, attractive young woman with black hair. The woman was small – excellent. Alone and unarmed – perfect.

Alpha knew she couldn't just attack the woman, not when she was in such a state – the bullet graze on her arm had taken out a sizable chunk of flesh. Not to mention the long, deep scratches from the razor wire. And her _heel_ – the image of a big German Shepard frothing at the mouth sparked to the forefront of her mind, and she felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. Her heel hurt, but in a more distant, untethered fashion. No, it was her arm and jaws which hurt the most, and those were her two best weapons.

She looked around, trying to see if there was anything to be used as a potential weapon, and found nothing except trash and old cardboard. The black-haired woman had passed the alley where Alpha was skulking, and was looking quizzically at the numbers on the apartments.

Alpha zeroed in on the bag.

_This is just too easy_, she thought, and winced when she grinned in spite of her injury. She needed to get out of this blood-covered jumpsuit, and she needed to do something about her wounds. The second one could be dealt with when she had a little cash, and she could always kill two birds with one stone by roughing up this woman. The thought to kill her had occurred, but she dismissed the idea. It would be easier to just pounce.

The woman yelped when Alpha leaped on her, twisting her arm hard behind her back. She would have shrieked helplessly, except Alpha's blood-stained hand smacked down hard across the woman's mouth. "Not a sound," Alpha warned lowly, and the woman froze, her eyes traveling along Alpha's bloodied arm. Alpha forcibly dragged her into the alley and shoved her against the dirty bricks of the nearest building, keeping her arm twisted tightly behind her back.

The bag dropped from the crook of the woman's arm and Alpha snagged it with her toe, picking it up with her injured arm. A searing bolt of pain ricocheted up her elbow and arm, but Alpha bit her tongue and tried to push back the pain. The thin leather strap of the bag was looped around the woman's neck, and Alpha twisted it hard, yanking it back sharply. Alpha released the woman's arm and snapped at her, "The sweater and jeans, _now_. _Off_."

There was a split second of hesitation, and Alpha jerked hard on the cord until the woman gagged. "Don't test me," Alpha threatened, "Don't. Test. Me." The brown woolen sweater was dropped to the alley streets, and the dark-haired woman frantically pawed at the cord around her throat. "This," Alpha said, tugging harder on the cord, "Comes off when the jeans do."

The woman kicked off her high heels and unsnapped her pants, trying to shimmy them off. When they joined the sweater on the pavement, Alpha had relaxed the bag handle around the woman's neck like she said. The woman trembled."Please," She begged, voice a thick and fearful whisper."Don't hurt me."

The escapee released the bag from around the woman's neck and roughly shoved her forward. "You have a five second head start," Alpha rasped, and the woman looked at her with big, green, terrified eyes. "One," Alpha said warningly, and the woman took off to her car, tears streaking down her cheeks. When she heard the car screeching down the street, the black-haired woman behind the wheel, Alpha relaxed marginally.

Taking off the orange jumpsuit hurt more than she had expected; the zipper snagged on the fabric several times, and getting her arms out had opened the wound there again, causing another spurt of blood to drip onto the fabric. When she was out of the suit and into the jeans, she ripped at the sleeve of her jumpsuit with her teeth, causing a fresh fog of pain to roll into her pounding headache.

When the sleeve had been torn off, she wrapped it tightly around the graze wound on her arm, tying it as best she could. Slowly, she pulled the brown sweater on and shrugged the leather jacket back on, feeling slightly more at ease when she was out of the strangling confines of the jumpsuit. She scuffed it beneath a dumpster and then squeezed herself into the high heeled shoes the woman had left behind. She nearly bared her teeth and left them there, but her bare feet would have given her away again. They would have to do until she could find sneakers.

Alpha shook her brown hair into her face, hoping that would discourage people from instantly recognizing her. Then she set off to find a place to stitch herself up before the wound got a chance to bleed through the jacket.

* * *

"_Christ_, Jackie!" He whispered. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Shut up," She panted, pushing past Lee into his house. Lee was her oldest friend – if he could be considered as that. Of all the people she knew, she had known Lee the longest, and they both occasionally helped each other out of sticky spots. Only when they felt like it, though.

Lee's scruffy red hair hung in his wide blue eyes as he gaped at the bleeding form of Jacqueline, a woman he knew through the Gotham Penitentiary. He had been in there for possession with intent to sell – she had been there for attacking her lab partner and giving him some nasty scars over his wrists. She had been locked up in the Metro City Asylum last he had heard, but now she was here, dripping blood all over his kitchen tile.

"Damn, Jackie, you got a bullet in you or what?" Lee asked, warily keeping his distance. The last time he saw her, she had smiled very nicely and promised to scratch his eyes out. Whether she had forgotten about the threat or was simply in too much pain to make good on it, Lee didn't know. And he wasn't about to take any chances.

"Just a nick," She muttered as she let the sweater drop to the floor. Lee went pale when he saw the strip of orange cloth bound clumsily over her arm. He still didn't approach her, though, and she looked up with a feral aggression in her eyes. "Get me something to patch this up with," She ground out between clenched teeth. When he hesitated, she made an incoherent growling noise of pain and fury in her throat, and it made Lee jump. He darted to the bathroom, knocking aspirin bottles and sleeping pills into the sink while he snatched a first aid kit and some peroxide. He passed his hands over his eyes, unable to believe that his psychotic sort-of-friend was back in his life once again, just when he thought everything had been straightened out.

He had been clean for nearly six months now, and had just discovered by word of mouth that the last person who wanted him dead had been in some type of fatal car accident. His life had been taking a turn for the better, and now _she_ had to show up again, this crazy chick who went around using her teeth as weapons. True, they had protected each other several times over the course of nine years, but his old life was done with. Maybe if he stitched her up, she would leave.

"How'd you get this?" He demanded as she gingerly unwrapped the filthy strip of material from around her arm. He wouldn't have been surprised to hear she had gotten it while escaping.

"Bank robbery," She said hoarsely, surprising him. He bit his lower lip as he trickled peroxide onto the wound, and she bared her teeth as she hissed in pain. Her canine was chipped at an irregular angle – that was new. He was afraid to ask how she had gotten it.

Carefully, he threaded the surgical needle and began stitching her arm, trying to be as neat and quick as possible. She glared at a point on his beige wall, hands clutching at the fabric of her jeans as she blotted out the pain. She glanced at him, noted the new weight he had gained, the brightness in his eyes and curled her lip in spite of herself. "You're clean," She said tightly, and it sounded more like an accusation than anything.

He rocked back on his heels, and nodded slowly. "Yeah. Six months," He said, then sighed. "Jackie, I can't keep bailing you out. I'm clean now, I'm sober, I feel great. I can't have anything else on my record."

She said nothing, merely inspected the stitching on her arm. When he tied off the stitches, she hiked up her pant leg and fumbled through the first aid kit for some gauze bandaging. He watched her and noted her fingernails were caked with blood. There was also dried blood on her neck and some on her chin, although it looked as if she had attempted to scrub it off with her shirtsleeve. "Did you kill anybody, Jackie." He asked. It was a statement, not a question. A more apt question would have been _who_ she had killed. She glowered at him.

"Nobody important," She said quietly. "Better if you don't know," She continued. "Seeing as you're _clean_."She spat it like a cuss word.

"God, Jackie, I'm not trying to be a saint here!" Lee snapped. "I'm trying to shape up, okay? I'm not the one going around butchering people!"

In a flash she was on her feet, and he felt a twinge of fear at how quickly she could move. She was shorter than him by at least four inches, but those black eyes were brimming with a kind of horrible rage. "Shut up, Lee," She hissed. "_Shut up_, _I don't want to kill you_. I really don't. But I will, if you ask any more questions or try telling me what to do. You got it?"

"Why haven't you killed me already?" Lee asked, staring right back at her. He buried his fear beneath his anger and indignation. "Why? You said you would last time we met–"

For a brief instant, he saw some of the ferocity leave her eyes. It changed her whole face, made her seem more human and less bestial. He had seen pictures of her when she had been a renowned scientist, and not a murderer. Those black eyes had peered intelligently out from behind a fringe of long chestnut hair, and a pretty smile had once grace her features. But now she was thin, worn, and savage, starved of human contact and bloodthirsty. "I need someone sane," She whispered.

And then it was back, the feral fierceness in her eyes. "But I _will_ kill you," She snarled, "If you ask any more questions."

He watched her settle the overly large leather jacket onto her thin shoulders, and then glanced at the totally-out-of-character high heels. Wordlessly, he went into his bedroom and came back with a pair of beat-up Nikes and gave them to her. She stuffed them onto her feet without bothering to untie the laces, and then started towards the door. A slip of paper fluttered out of her pocket, and she paused to pick it up. But Lee saw what it was – a joker card, with a bloody smile painted on its features, and he felt the breath leave his body.

"Jackie," He said, his voice cracked and pleading to his own ears, "Jackie, tell me you're not in league with the Joker."

Even _she_ looked scared with the mere mention of his name. "No," She said gruffly, averting her eyes and trying to quell the nausea and fear rising in her belly. "Met him at the bank."

"You got shot by _the Joker_?" Lee said, panicked. "And he _missed_?"

A barking and humorless laugh came from her as she plucked the card from his numb fingers. "One of his men," She supplied. "Not him."

"Jackie, please, stay away from him," Lee said. "For your sake, not mine." She turned away from him, her hand on the doorknob. "You know what he's done, right?" He called after her. "You _know_ how dangerous it is, to be around him."

Slowly, she turned back and looked at him beneath tired, hooded lids. "What he's done," She said with great meaning and effort, "Isn't anything worse than what I've done. Or you've done. Or what the Batman's done." Her nostrils flared, and even though the pain in her skull was monstrous, she flashed her teeth at him in a hard, ruthless grin. "But I'm not going anywhere near the Joker," She said. "He's not my taste."

She slammed the door behind her."He's too wild," She muttered under her breath as she limped down the street.

_So are you_, a cool, detached voice in her head commented.

_Shut up,_ she snarled back. She kicked at a crumpled piece of newspaper. She needed to get out of this city. It was poison. Corrupted. Riddled with disease.

"I'm getting out of here," She growled aloud, tasting the bitterness of the words on her tongue.

"But that would ruin all the _fun_," A deep voice purred behind her, accompanied by a little giggle, "And we can't have you doing _that_, now can we, _Jacqueline_?"

* * *

**A/N:** And chapter two is now up! ^^ The review button is right over there, and I don't think it works. Try clicking on it, you know, just to test it out. xD

Major shout-out to my beta, **xTune**, who helped smooth things out and gave me some of the best advice ever.


	3. Chapter 3: My Dominant

**Chapter Three: Fight Or Flight**

* * *

_This is it. It's fight or flight. When there's nothing left for you to do to fix that one thing bringing you down. You've gotta learn. You've gotta decide. When there's nothing left to say, at first you can run. Run as far away, trying your hardest to escape it all, let it go and live on. But you know...you will never escape. It'll all come undone again in time. You can hide it as much as you want, it'll still come back. So then, you've got to fight. You've got to learn that what you're feeling is wrong, and you've got to live with the consequences. It's the only way, the only way to learn. You've got to fight for love because in the end, if you run away, you will only regret the decision for the rest of your life. So fight. –_Unknown

* * *

She had hunted before. It was strictly a primal instinct, something she did without thought or reason – she just hunted. She needed to be on top. But in this second, this shattered moment of absolute terror, she realized that she was the prey. A raw, tight feeling of fear twisted in her middle, and there was a solid blockage in her throat, as if her stomach had suddenly leaped between her collarbones. There was a dizzying moment as she pivoted swiftly, a sheaf of shortly cropped hair swinging into her eyes, and she focused on the figure in front of her. Those dark eyes were alive and dancing with malice and something akin to horrible glee, and that lurid smile was still painted macabrely across his cheeks. A school bus that was quite worse for wear stood idling by the curb, coughing ragged black plumes into the already polluted air of the Narrows. Neither of them said anything for a long moment, and the Joker's comment lingered in the air. Then she realized that he had called her by her first name.

"Your _boyfriend's_ kinda cute, huh?" The Joker giggled, and a smile stretched his scarred cheeks. "_Real _cute. Not your, uh, _type_ though, huh?"

"Go away."

It was an automatic phrase which tore unevenly from her lips, a few broken syllables which strung together, stemmed from a moment of weakness. Fight or flight. Alpha wasn't about to run away. She never ran away from a fight. But running away now would mean exposing her back to the Joker, and nobody did that without losing their life. He whooped with laughter, but there was an edginess to his laugh, as if he was getting impatient and she wasn't doing what she was supposed to.

"Aw, now why would I do that, _princess_?" He asked, cocking his head to the side, sending a few curls of greasy blonde-green hair swinging. "You seemed pretty, uh, _eager _to hurt me back at the bank. Now you want me to _leave_? I'm _hurt_." Something shifted in his face, the mocking laughter left from his eyes, replaced by something deeper, darker, and infinitely more dangerous. "You just keep getting in my way,_ dont'cha_?" He hissed between his teeth.

The uncertainty left her eyes, and she bared her teeth. A dull throb of pain licked up her jaws and she tested her stance warily, gauging the pain in her heel. She couldn't run far. She couldn't fight the Joker. Those were her options, and both of them ended in death. "Go. Away," She growled. "I mean it."

He took a menacing step closer. "I'd _love_ to," He purred, "But you're kinda in the way."

There was a terrible click, and she realized he had just flicked out his switchblade. There was no pity in his eyes, just a dark, flat blankness.

Replaying the moment back in her mind weeks later, she never remembered who moved first. They both seemed to lunge at one another, jaws locked, ready to kill and maim and destroy, sheer rage blinding their impacts. He was hard and corded with sinew, and she was no frail weakling herself – but he had a knife and she was badly injured. Even with her at full health, she would have been outmatched; he had a savagery which rivaled hers. She felt the knife barely prick her abdomen before her aching jaw pried open and she sank her teeth into his neck, where his collarbones and throat connected. Instead of howling with pain and rage like most people she had bitten, he grunted hoarsely, eyes wild with bizarre euphoria. A rush of adrenaline surged through his veins, and he swatted her aside with one powerful whack of his forearm. She went skittering on the sidewalk, the hard concrete bruising her ribs and hip, her head knocking sharply against the curb.

He stood there gasping for breath, with wheezing giggles mingling with his rapid breathing. "You got a little bit of _spark_ in you, doncha, princess?" He panted giddily.

She laid there completely still. He had beaten her. Now he would kill her. She accepted it. She was exhausted, wounded, and she had been bested – Alpha wasn't going to argue that. So she stayed still, looking at him with calm acceptance, as if to say '_Yes, go ahead. Winner takes all_.'

And then they heard the familiar scream of sirens. He moved with eerie speed, purple trench coat swirling behind him as he bounded back into his bus. It took him perhaps five seconds to tear off down the street, whipping around the corner and disappearing from sight. His hideout wasn't far, and he didn't have time to finish her off.

It was a moment he would later live to regret.

Both of them would.

* * *

She never thought about how she became the way she was. Once, she had tried to remember what had happened, but she had been crippled with a blinding headache and crushing guilt which paralyzed her for days. When she emerged, she was covered with her own tears, blood and bile – and she resolved never to think of the past again. However, she remembered one thing, something which remained: She had come from a life carefully webbed with rules. Part of being so feral was freeing. She didn't think, she just acted – there was no debate, no argument. Just _instinct_. But there were a few rules, a few things which she obeyed despite her condition.

Alpha strived to be what she was – an Alpha. Whoever she met, she dominated; and this usually meant killing them viciously. Never had she been dominated, and as she lay dazed and sore on the wet concrete, she realized she had just been thoroughly beaten. Beaten, and then left, as if she was nothing more than a blip in his day. Shakily, she got to her feet, ducking back into the alley and trying to blend with the shadows. The pain was starting to blur the edges of her vision, but in spite of it she limped swiftly down the alley, looking for a safe place to black out.

Why had he left her? She knew he killed almost everyone he met. Necessity, she told herself. He didn't want to be caught by Them. She didn't want to be caught by Them either, so she tried to keep her painfully slow scuffle natural looking and casual. The questions which ran busily around her head were often ignored, but she focused blearily in on one of them: _Why didn't he kill me?_ Alpha's logic was simple.

_Because he's my Alpha. He's my dominant._

Those two phrases ran in crazy, frothing circles around her mind until she took too sharp of a turn and simply slid down to the ground where she stood.

* * *

"Master Wayne?"

Bruce Wayne, billionaire of the world and the richest man in Gotham, stood staring at his Batman armor. His symbol. What he stood for. The justice, the honor – it all was embedded into those hard plates which protected him. He knew his duty, but he hadn't known how difficult it would be; living two separate lives, trying to be both the rich lazy playboy who romanced Gotham and the upright, confident vigilante which protected it. Sighing, Bruce ran his hands through his dark hair, ruffling it slightly. "Yeah, Alfred?" He called over his shoulder.

"Something I think you should know about," Alfred said, setting down the lunch tray carefully. "An article in the newspaper which I think might interest you."

He picked up the creased newspaper which Alfred had left on the tray, smoothing it out over his desk. A small article was circled neatly in red pen, and the article itself was buried beneath the multiple stories about the Joker and the Scarecrow, along with the other crimes pockmarking Gotham. It was very short, concise, and read simply:

_**Doctor Crazy Escaped From Arkham**_

_Sometime early yesterday morning, Dr. Jacqueline Rowen escaped from Arkham Asylum, killing three guards and maiming two more in the process. Dr. Rowen earned her reputation back in Metroville, where she made national headlines by brutally slaughtering her psychiatrist with her teeth, mauling him horribly. Rowen, 26, was turned into a psychotic monster when she was used as a test subject while trying to analyze the fear toxin which ravaged Gotham two years ago. She is unarmed but considered extremely dangerous. Was last seen in contact with the Joker. _

Bruce pushed the paper away from him. "Just another small time criminal, Alfred," He said hoarsely. "I've got the entire Mob to take down."

"Of course, Master Wayne," Alfred said, and left respectfully. His intuition was telling him that this was not some 'small time criminal', however. And his intuition was very rarely wrong.

Instinct, of course, never lies.

* * *

**A/N: Wow! Crazy days are here again! Try juggling finals, doubling up on waitressing hours, and dumping a good-for-nothing ex-boyfriend-turned-deadbeat out of your house. Yeah. Insane couple of weeks here. Anyway, I realize this chapter is kind of sub par, and I'm really sorry. But I figured you'd rather have a tidbit than nothing, right? ^-^**

**And again, big thanks to my lovely, wonderful, fantastic beta, xTune, who is always there to tell me what's amazing and what's ridiculous. This is turning out into a much better story, thanks to her, so she deserves your undying praise and affection. ^-^**


	4. Chapter 4: A New Alpha

**Chapter Four: A New Alpha**

* * *

_Dogs don't bite me. Only humans. – _Marilyn Monroe

* * *

He was fairly she she was dead.

Tom had been living in this stretch of the Narrows for years – this muddied, desolate alleyway full of emaciated feral cats and scarred rats with protruding bones that were stripped from hunger. Not many people came down here, not down this way; it was a shortcut to the worst part of the Narrows, and no one dared to go there. Still, this woman had turned the corner, stumbled a few steps and then dropped like a stone, her head striking hard against the dirty pavement. He had waited a respectable amount of time to see if she stirred, but when half an hour dragged by and there was no movement, he hesitantly came forward. Tom couldn't quite tell – was she breathing? – but there was a nice leather jacket on her shoulders. A man's leather jacket, not a woman's; it was creased and worn in several places, but seemed warm and comfortable enough. This was simply too good to be true. If she had any cash on her, he was certain he would die and go to heaven.

To be safe, he prodded her with a newspaper-stuffed boot, checking to be sure she was dead. "You alive?" He grunted hoarsely. There was no response. Her matted chestnut hair was splayed out, and he thought he saw ketchup in a few of the clumps. He shuffled over, dropped to his knees and began to unzip the leather jacket. It certainly was a nice jacket. Tom made the mistake of glancing at her face. What he saw made his heart drop down to his stomach.

It wasn't ketchup matting her hair, because it certainly wasn't ketchup staining her teeth and gums – no, it was blood. It almost looked as though her face had been roughly swiped with a rag, but there was dried blood in the cracks of her lips and the corners of her mouth. He trembled, stumbling backwards a pace; her nails were caked in grime, and one of them was torn off completely. Her face was lean and drawn with hunger, and even in this unintentional moment of vulnerability, there was something tight about her face. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a low, thick groan rippled from her throat. One of her eyes opened. She was apparently trying to focus in on him, and he stood quickly, hurrying away. Tom crossed himself briefly, turning up the collar of his scruffy jacket and glanced behind him. She wasn't getting up, but the woman was shaking her head from side to side, experimentally, as if discovering whether or not she was alive. He had no business getting mixed up with a girl like that, jacket or no jacket.

She was in so much pain. The deep scratches which hadn't bothered her at all yesterday was now buzzing at her angrily, reminding her painfully of their presence. How had she gotten them? The fence. She remembered the fence, and the dog. Her heel throbbed and her left hand wouldn't work properly. It was mottled with black and purple bruises, and a lump was poking angrily at the skin. The bullet graze, now that it had been cleaned and stitched, hurt far less than her other various injuries. Not to mention that her jaw still felt numb and unhinged, and her side hurt terribly from where the Joker had thrown her.

The very thought of the macabre clown sent an icy fear curling in her gut. Part of her wanted to get out of here, to buy a bus ticket and go someplace far away; someplace where there was greenery and lush forests. But in this urban jungle her instincts rushed through her brain, swiping her reasonable side aside and telling her to _go find him now_. Creakily and cautiously, she got to her hands and knees, testing her breathing and gauging her pain. With each thump of her heart, the pulse of blood sent a new wave of hurt through her body, but she got to her feet despite the misgivings. She needed to find him.

But where to start? Where was she? She was starving, cold, and and in an incredible amount of pain. Where was the Joker?

Why should she even _look_ for him?

Alpha didn't wander – she needed to walk with a purpose. But by being defeated yesterday by the clown – did that make her a submissive? She bared her teeth at the sidewalk. No. She was still an Alpha, damn the Joker! But still, she wandered, drawn by the scents and sounds, the shadows and hiding places which leered at her from behind corners. Deeper and deeper into the Narrows she went, until the howling of delighted children faded and there was nothing but silence – eerie, blank silence. Occasionally, someone screamed – desperate, raw, keening screams – and she always stood stock still, swiveling her head to catch the noise whenever this happened. There was an old bum on the street corner, flicking a match with shaking hands. He was quivering too badly to light his cigarette, but he finally managed to get it lit and into the corner of his scruffy mouth. When he looked up and saw her, he paused, unsure of whether or not she was approaching him.

She passed by him, catching a whiff of unwashed sweat and stale cigarettes and wrinkled her nose. Even that small action hurt. He puffed on his cigarette, examining her, and fell in step behind her easily. A woman in the Narrows – what a surprise. She wasn't dressed like a hooker, and she didn't have the look of a lost woman. Plus, she was limping badly; his hand went to a knife in his pocket. A little extra cash on hand never hurt. The woman was small and obviously injured. Alpha heard him behind her and picked up the pace slightly, increasing her speed but maximizing on her limp. She didn't have the energy to fight, though she would if she had to. As they passed an alley, the hobo picked up his pace until he was nearly level with her.

There was a blur of motion – fast, hard, cruel – and a grunt of pain. She turned around fast, and saw a small, rat-faced man shoving the older hobo against the wall. The homeless man was deathly white and seemed to be struggling to catch his breath; it was only then that Alpha noticed the knife driven to the hilt between his ribs. She took a step backwards, readying herself, unsure of herself for the second time in two days. The rat faced man let the older man drop to the ground and he pulled his knife effortlessly from the man's side. He glanced idly at the knife, and wiped it carelessly on his jeans. "Hey!" He shouted, his voice slurred with alcohol and a heavy Gotham accent. "Hey, you! Girl!"

"_Alpha_!" She corrected savagely, but it lacked the usual venom. The pain meter, which was usually high enough to contain any injury, was quickly creeping to the blackout stage again. And this time she wasn't sure she could wake back up.

"Yeah, whatever," He grumbled. "He wants to see you."

There was a long pause, and her thick brows came together. "Who?" She grunted.

"Santa Clause," He said sarcastically. When her expression didn't change, he said, "The _Joker_, idiot. He's looking for you." He said it very slowly and carefully, as though speaking to a slow child.

"Tell him to keep looking," Alpha growled, and turned away. _This is your chance_! She screamed at herself. _He's looking for you! Your Alpha is looking for you! Don't refuse your Alpha!_

"Hey, look, I'm just doing my job," The man said, almost sympathetically. "But the Joker – he gets what he wants. And right now, he wants you."

That was when he pounced, his hand on her throat.

She was savage at full health – now as a cornered and injured wolf, she was positively desperate. Her nails sank into his arm, her neck twisted as she tried to sink her teeth into his bicep, but to no avail. Her feet stamped down hard on his booted foot, but he kept full pressure on her windpipe, counting breathlessly. Ten more seconds, and she would be out. It was the longest ten seconds of his life – she clawed, scratched, and bit like a deranged dog, but when her struggling slowed and she slumped against him, he sighed in relief.

"Crazies, all of 'em," He mumbled. "This is the last time I work for crazies."

* * *

The zip ties bit into her wrists as she twitched sluggishly, waking herself up just by her spasming dreams. There was a cruelly bright light in her face, and she kept her eyes screwed tightly shut, whimpering in pain as she twisted to be free of her bonds. There was something in her mouth – it tasted bitter and acrid, and she realized she was lying on her side on some sort of thin mattress. The light was from above her, a naked bulb casting a sickly yellow glow in the room. She grunted fiercely, trying to sit up. Her head swam alarmingly, and she sank back against the mattress. The pain wasn't gone – or was it? She couldn't tell. Everything was numb, and the outlines of things seemed faded and unrealistic – an old photograph left out in the light too long.

"Well, _hey, _princess," Crooned a familiar voice from the doorway. She focused blearily and saw a blur of colors and a white, streaked face. _The Joker_. Clown Prince of Gotham. Even in her highly drugged stupor, she had enough brains to draw back from him and closer to the wall. "C'mon, I _know_ you're not this shy," He purred. "Say hi!"

It took her an eternity to assemble her thoughts. She tried to snarl at him, but the vicious, bizarre noise turned into a little whine and a coughing fit, and he whooped loudly with laughter. "_Alpha_," She coughed, but she wasn't sure if she was reaffirming her identity or passing the mantle onto this twisted anarchist.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," He chuckled. "Y'know, you don't look so _tough_ when you're all tied up. Let's fix that, huh?" He grinned, and his knife was out in a flash. It was a short, sparklingly new blade, and he pricked it under her chin momentarily. "Be-_you_-tiful," He smiled and sliced the zip ties off her hands. "There. All better."

One moment of trying to settle her muddy thoughts. Then two. Then three. Then -

_Wham!_

Her hands went for his throat, his knife, anything which she could use to kill him. She wasn't going to lay down and let a new Alpha take her place – it was to the death. She fought with everything she had in her, but she was stupidly slow under the influence of this drug. She snatched for his knife, but caught the blade end and it bit into her palm as she dragged it upwards, trying to slam it into him somewhere, stab him, kill him, maim him. But he was a rock of wire muscle and frenzied energy, and within moments he had her pinned to the floor, wrists by her head. "_Yes_," He hissed. "_There's_ the little girl I was looking for." He was delighted – beyond delighted – euphoric, even.

She stopped struggling and lay there, panting, her brain fuzzing over again. "Let go," She said, but there was no growl in her words. Just a hoarse, bone-weary exhaustion.

He rolled off her, getting to his feet quickly and dusting his leather gloves off. She stayed there, breathing hard, and closed her eyes.

_It was over_.

"Aw, princess, don't pout," the Joker giggled. "You need to _lighten up_. Smile a little, right?"

She opened her dark eyes and glared at him. "Smile..." She rasped. The word was alien to her. "My smile," She said hoarsely, "Is a little different than yours." She bared her teeth in a silent grimace, and he laughed again, that eerie whooping bouncing off the walls.

"Now, _that's_ better!" He laughed. "C'mon, princess, are you going to lie there all day?"

She bit back a groan as she stood, swaying unsteadily, and she saw the Joker's dark eyes assess her. "I'll have one of the boys check you out," He said, in an almost pleasant sing-song voice. "I've got a big meeting tomorrow. Promise to be nice and not bite anyone?"

"No," She grunted.

"That's my girl," He said, and ruffled through his coat pockets. He withdrew two pills and tossed them on the floor. They bounced, skittering away from her, and she watched them greedily. "That's for the pain, princess," He said sweetly. "Don't wanna be tripping when I bring you to meet Maroni, huh?"

He slammed the door behind him and left her standing there, looking confused, exhausted and sore. She was a character, all right! And he needed to make an impression on Maroni.

This girl, he decided, would make _just_ the impression he needed.

* * *

**A/N: Dun dun dunn...Again, sorry for the long wait. But we're finally up to speed! ^-^ Next up – meeting with Maroni! :D **


End file.
